


Operant Conditioning

by on_the_wing



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Bondage, General Meanness, Hair Care Products, M/M, Metafiction, Non-con in Metafiction, Pandering to Narcissism, Porthos this is going to need a LOT of editing, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 21:30:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6874123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/on_the_wing/pseuds/on_the_wing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porthos got caught looking at Deimos’ butt and has to atone. He writes a campy crackfic for Phobos which is intended to reassure and amuse him. As you might expect, it’s mean and horrible. I apologize in advance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Operant Conditioning

**Author's Note:**

> I’m warning you, this is horrible. None of this “actually” happens, because it’s a fic within a fic and even Porthos would not actually be that cruel, but it has non-con treated as comedy, slut-shaming, unexamined rape culture tropes, ableism, classism, unsafe sexual practices, etc. If you get triggered by any of this you might want to sit this one out. 
> 
> I like to think that Porthos and Phobos have a habit of parodying these tropes between themselves in a dark humor way, but this is purely fanon, because canon Phobos has all the subtlety of a sheet of plastic. Sadly, his exploitation by Cook is just about the only thing that gives him depth.

Operant Conditioning; or, The Only Situation In Which Porthos Would Ever Have Any Contact With Deimos’ Butt Ever

  
_~a story by Porthos, for my dearest Phobos~_   

**FIRST DRAFT**

  
One day Porthos showed up at Phobos’ door promptly at 7:00, ready to escort him to breakfast. He did not show up earlier because he knew this would disturb his most precious pearl’s sacred morning routine. He did not show up later because this would be disrespectful.    
  
To his surprise, Phobos did not answer the door. Phobos was always on time as well ~~and never shouted through the door to come back in ten minutes because his hair was still drying~~ so this was cause for concern. Instead, Phobos’ annoying, unattractive, shrimpy fighter Deimos answered the door.  
  
Why Deimos was not already out smoking or spitting or stalking people or sucking five cocks at once in an elevator, or whatever it is he typically did all day, Porthos did not know. What he did know is that Deimos’ stupid emo hair was wet, and it smelled of Phobos’ conditioner!  
  
“Is Phobos there?” Porthos asked.  
  
Deimos replied in a completely normal voice, “No. He’ll be back in a minute, though.” This was unheard of! Everyone knew that Deimos never talked out loud, and rarely even whispered. “Would you like to come in and wait for him?”  
  
Now Porthos was sure something was wrong. Deimos was never polite! He glanced around for traps or blood, and cautiously followed him inside. He had to find out what had happened to Phobos!  
  
Deimos closed the door behind them, and lounged insolently against it, picking his teeth with a knife. That was rude and unsanitary, and thus more typical of him.  
  
“Is your throat feeling better?” Porthos asked politely. “I noticed you were speaking more clearly than usual.”  
  
“Oh, I can always talk good,” Deimos said, unwittingly contradicting himself. “I just pretend I can’t to annoy Phobos.”  
  
“Why would you want to annoy your navigator? You should be helping and supporting him.”  
  
“Oh, I dunno. It just annoys me how beautiful and perfect and popular he is. Why can’t everyone secretly envy me the way they secretly envy him? Sometimes I wish I could be just like him.”  
  
“Is that why you stole his conditioner?” Porthos asked sternly.  
  
“I didn’t steal it,” Deimos whined. “I only BORROWED it. The bottle’s still there in the shower.”  
  
“Can you give back what you took?”  
  
“….no.”  
  
“Then you didn’t borrow it.”  
  
“WhatEVER.” He slunk over and stuck his hair in Porthos’ face, violating his personal space. “Doesn’t it smell great, though?”  
  
“That’s beside the point. It’s not right to take other people’s things. Besides, where is Phobos? I was supposed to meet him here at 7:00, and he never changes plans without telling me. That would be rude.”  
  
Deimos smirked unpleasantly. “I told him you were going to meet him somewhere else, and then set my tablet to automatically send him messages from you every ten minutes saying that you were going to be late. Each one has a different lame excuse. Hahaha!”  
  
“Why would you do that?” Porthos exclaimed. “Is there no end to your villainy?”  
  
“I guess not!” Deimos preened.  
  
“Why are you telling me all this?”  
  
“I just wanted someone to monologue to. Someone needs to know about my cleverness, and Cain is busy doing unspeakable things to Abel. ~~Also I was hoping to get into your sexy sexy pants~~.”  
  
“Phobos will soon figure out your scheme,” Porthos said confidently. “He’s much smarter than you are.” This went without saying, of course, but Deimos, being fighter trash, probably hadn’t figured it out yet.  
  
“Oh no,” said Deimos. “I did not know that. If only I had factored that into my evil plans.”  
  
“I think you need to be taught a lesson,” said Porthos. He went into the bathroom and got the bottle of conditioner, then came back and grabbed Deimos by the scruff of the neck. “You want some conditioner? You can HAVE some conditioner.”   
  
Porthos had to put latex gloves on because of course he couldn’t touch grotty fighter butt, especially grotty ~~round, resilient, smackable~~ Deimos butt. He especially could not risk exposing Phobos to the space germs that undoubtedly teemed upon it, should they somehow survive the severe washing and sterilization his hands must otherwise undergo. Phobos already had to live in the same room with Deimos; he shouldn’t have to endure that. Good thing Porthos had some gloves in his bag. Porthos was always prepared.  
  
First, though, he had to handcuff Deimos’ hands behind his back, because that little twit basically sprouted knives from his pores. If you locked him naked in an empty room overnight, he would have at least eight or ten assorted knives by the time you came to collect him the next morning. Deimos kicked and shrieked like a girl but in no time he was handcuffed and bent over Porthos’ lap, pants pulled down to his knees. Of course he wasn’t wearing any underwear. You know how fighters are.  
  
Then Porthos put an extra-large condom on each end of the conditioner bottle, because the conditioner bottle shouldn’t have to be subjected to Deimos’ germs either. Then he covered the whole thing with inferior generic conditioner, which was all Deimos deserved, either for his hair or as lube.  
  
Porthos paused to take away the knife that Deimos had meanwhile somehow acquired using only his teeth. “You could hurt yourself with that,” he cautioned. Then he inserted ~~his cock~~ the bottle into Deimos’ ass, ~~relishing his enthusiastic moans~~ ignoring his insincere protests.  
  
“Take that!” said Porthos, moving it in and out vigorously as he spanked Deimos with the other hand.  
  
It would probably hurt most people to be fucked up the ass by a bottle of conditioner, since neither end has a gently rounded tapering shape, but Deimos’ butt was so stretched out and calloused already from all the double and triple anal he’d been doing down on the fighters’ level that he hardly even felt it. It was just an indignity. Not that he had any dignity in the first place. “It’s not fair!” he whined. “Why can’t I have nice things too?”  
  
Porthos paused. “You are getting something nice. You’re getting all the nice conditioner you could ever want, up the ass. You’re also getting far more of my attention than you deserve, or will ever get again.” He returned to spanking Deimos, even harder this time ~~because that little slut didn’t seem to understand that it was a punishment~~.  
  
Phobos burst into the room streaming with glory like the sun. “That little sneak told me you wanted to meet me on the observation deck for a picnic! But when I got there all I found was Abel and his fighter playing drunken 20 Questions on some tatty old carpet!”  
  
“Not only did he waste your time,” Porthos said grimly, “he wasted your conditioner, too!”  
  
“No!” gasped Phobos, recognizing the smell of the conditioner and also the shape and color of the bottle, even though it was covered by condoms and half-buried in Deimos’ butt. He was a keen observer. Nothing got past him ~~alas~~. “Oh well, at least I have another bottle hidden away. I see you’ve been punishing him. Good. Let’s punish him even worse by cuffing him to the ladder and making him ~~suck both of us off at once~~ watch us have hotter sex than he could ever dream of.”  
  
“You have such brilliant ideas, Phobos. No wonder everyone is jealous of you.”  
  
And so they did as Phobos had suggested.  
  
And then they made Deimos buy Phobos a new bottle of conditioner. Ten new bottles of conditioner. And he had to sleep in Athos’ room from then on, and also stop hanging around with Abel’s disgusting piece of trash fighter. And he also had to talk like a normal human being to Phobos and everyone else.  
  
Deimos secretly enjoyed the firm boundaries and discipline he had never had in the Colonies or previously on the ship, so he started to behave in a (slightly) more civilized manner ~~except when he wanted another spanking~~ and everyone lived happily ever after, except Abel who got space herpes and developed unattractive blotches on his face.  
  
The End  
  
p.s. I hope you like this my darling dearest most perfect shining star now can I please be forgiven for looking at your fighter’s butt I swear I just glanced in that direction because I saw ~~sexy wiggling~~ movement, I thought it might be a rat or something.  
  
—love, P


End file.
